


The Bonnie Lass of Dublin

by KazikluBae



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-07 09:51:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18618199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KazikluBae/pseuds/KazikluBae
Summary: What is love but a kaleidoscopic illusion?What is happiness but sadness pending?What is sorrow but the prospect of joy?What is hate but unrequired love?





	The Bonnie Lass of Dublin

**Author's Note:**

> I'm afraid I did it again.  
> This fic is cursed by love.

Molly O’Shea was crying. It was not the first time she had cried, and she was certain that it would not be her last. In these moments, she couldn’t help but remember the day that she boarded the ship to this new land, allegedly full of opportunities.

When they asked her why she did it, why did she come to the US, she merely said that she came in the whim of finding adventures and excitement, which was only partly true.  Why would a lass from a wealthy family board on a ship and come to that wild country, with no means to live? There were parts of her story that even she didn’t want to look at.

She didn't sign up for that kind of life, though. Living in the run, sleeping in tents like savages, almost never getting a glimpse of society, much less the fair part of it. Who would have thought that Molly O’Shea, entitled the Bonnie Lass of Dublin – a title given by Seamus O’Brien, a man with means and influence – would be running with outlaws and eating beans with meat like some kind of peasant?

If she knew that beforehand, she would have stayed in Ireland. She should have married that poor shoemaker, or at least accept old Seamus O’Brien, then she would have had a roof over her head, and a comfortable life, even if not one of the great romances.

Great romances... they have lied to her as well, that’s why she didn’t read them anymore. They were all but cover, much like her relationship with Dutch was turning.

He was the reason she traded all. She could have returned Ireland before when she had the opportunity, but no. She met him, and for him, she would walk to the ends of the Earth, or so she thought.

In the beginning, she was stunned by his looks and words, it was like a spell had fallen over her eyes. His dark eyes were much like the ones of a Selkie, dark and mysterious, his voice was like music to her ears. When he told her about his vision of the world, how he valued freedom and liberty above all else and dreamed of living an independent existence, exulting that facade of Robin Hood, she thought that she had found a hero. Her hero, a rogue that had a heart of gold, believing he and his crew could make a difference in the world.

Also, it was he who taught her about pain and pleasure and showed her the many ways to satisfy a woman, even if he wasn’t paying that attention to her now. He had been her first and she dreamed that he would be her last too.

She truly believed that she had found her hero, the perfect guy from the tales she heard, and he swept her off her feet. First, he was around as a protector, then, slowly he became – and without any resistance of the Bonnie Lass of Dublin – her lover.

Or was the other way around?

She was his lover. Who was she here? No one, nothing. Just the same as the next girl.

At first, she couldn’t care less about what other people thought of her, she was with him and nothing could change her love for him, all she needed at the end of the day was Dutch and him alone, his presence filled her in a way she never experienced before, however, as the time went by, little by little she noticed that their relationship turned into a sour convivence and that she wasn’t enough to him any more. Her love only grew as his feelings merely shrink.

Why was that? She wasn’t being good enough? She loved him so much, why her love wasn’t enough to him? Why Dutch was ignoring her like a bad habit? Had she lost the gleam of “new thing”, then? What was Molly O’Shea now but a conquer for him?

These ideas filled her head and heart with distress.

Had he become tired of her?

At first, she thought that it was just a day thing, maybe he needed some space – all men need space sometimes, right? – in the end, she was only trying to ignore what she could obviously see, for Molly O’Shea was no fool.

Sooner than she expected, Dutch was already leaving her alone all the time, cornered in their tent by her thoughts.

How much time would it take for him to leave her by the side of a road? Or worse, for her to become like Miss Grimshaw, watching him take younger girls as lovers, because she wasn’t blind to the silent stories of the camp.

She was a proud Irish girl, and if he left her on a road, she would survive, but she didn’t want to. She needed him to acknowledge her, to be with her, he promised her. Dutch promised to love and cherish her, was all of that a lie? He said he would take care of her, where was he now?

That was her life now. No more Bonnie Lass of Dublin, no more balls, no more Seamus O’Brien holding her hand and trying to persuade her into being his lover, nor a poor shoemaker and his promises of a happy family. Just Miss O’Shea, plain and boring in the eyes of the man she loved.

She didn't come to America to be a servant and a diminished lover, much less the reason for mockery. People at camp made fun of her, or despised her, and never back home someone would treat her like that! She was better than them all.

And she cried, near the lakeshore, as the sun was up high in the sky. She had nowhere else to go. What could she do?

-You okay Miss? – someone said.

She looked at the owner of that voice with despise and anger.

-What do you want? – she tried to brush her tears away, but they just kept coming.

He noticed that when she cried, her green eyes seemed bluer, and he imagined that they looked like the greenish oceans of her land.

-I’m sorry, didn’t want to bother – Kieran said, ashamed of disturbing her – You seemed...

-What I seem or not isn’t your concern – she said.

-I’m sorry Miss... – he said, walking away.

That boy Kieran was noisy, she didn’t trust him, nor she desired to engage in conversation with someone that treated their horses, it was below her.

Molly made up her mind, she was going to talk to Dutch about these things that bothered her, maybe... their relationship still had a chance to be more than a source of sadness.

She hoped and she waited for him.

 

 [...]

 

When they argued, she simply was taken by her anger and there was nothing in the world that would make her cry, but soon as her blood cooled down, she would feel how her heart was broken, every time it seemed one more step away from mending it. She was walking by the shore of the lake, she needed to get away from the camp, no more people seeing her cry, no more small talk about her.

She needed space, and she needed to cry. All her being felt torn apart because of his words, Dutch could be so cruel when he wanted to be.

She walked until she couldn’t hear or see the camp anymore, then fell on her knees by the water, without caring that the dirt would ruin her beautiful skirt. She was so tired of it all.

Only the wind heard her, and carried her cries of sorrow in itself. Or so she thought.

A few paces away, there was a Kieran relaxing near the water. He enjoyed the quiet and calm, and the sounds of nature, much more pleasant than the talk of people. He had just taken a bath and now was drying in the warm light of the sun.

He couldn’t forget his status in the gang, being a former O’Driscoll and all, people still mistrusted him and talked about killing him, however, Kieran Duffy wasn’t sad at that moment, in fact, he felt in peace, for fish was plenty, nature was beautiful, sun was warm against his skin, like a caress, and life was good, after all.

The singing of the birds had been disturbed by an ugly cry, and his peace was broken. Who was crying at that hour of the day? It could not be a lady in white, for they only appeared in the dead of the night.

He looked around until his eyes found who was crying at distance.

It was her again, sad Miss O’Shea.

Kieran sighed. What was a cry but a broken call to arms?

Miss O’Shea was a proud one, of that he was sure, but he didn’t hate her, he didn’t even dislike her. She was sad all the time, that’s all. He couldn’t blame her too, he always thought that love could be tricky sometimes, yet, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for her in the same way he would feel sorry for a bird with a broken wing, although she should never know about it – she wouldn’t understand.

A part of him was a little scared of talking to her too. Who was he but the guy who treated horses? He had no right to talk to her. She wouldn’t enjoy talking to him either – as it happened before – and probably would think he was prying.

Still, he wanted to do something. It wasn’t right to just let her drown in sorrows, without not even a slight of happiness. A pretty girl like her should enjoy flowers, maybe red ones to match her hair.

When Molly O’Shea returned to camp, her eyes were red and plump from crying so much, and she wished for nothing more than to lay down and sleep, but as she approached the tent she shared with Dutch, she saw flowers over her bed, a beautiful bouquet of wildflowers, red and green.

As she picked it up, smelling them, her face lost her sad and tired expression, lightening herself, as she embraced that bouquet.

Kieran saw it from afar, as he mended a horse cell, and again he couldn’t help himself but feel a warm sensation within his chest. She looked so beautiful, and the smile in her face made her look angel like. Molly O’Shea was amazing indeed.

-Dutch! I knew you weren’t serious! These flowers are beautiful, thank you! – she said, as Dutch approached.

He seemed confused for a moment, but only enough to plot his way through it.

-Yes, I made it for you, darling. All for you. – he said.


End file.
